


Scraps

by graywhatsit



Series: Hatbots [13]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Drabble Collection, Gen, Hat Films, Multi, hatbots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-03 22:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4116742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graywhatsit/pseuds/graywhatsit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or: bits and pieces of the hatbot universe that are simply too short to warrant a standalone</p><p>always in progress</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. haze

**Author's Note:**

> you ought to read america before you read this one

Smith really didn’t know what happened when he drank.

Some people remember, some people don’t, and Smith was definitely the latter. Everything just went out the window the moment he started until he woke up the next morning, more often than not nursing a ferocious hangover.

How could he help himself, though? He loved alcohol.

But the last time he ever got that drunk was at the convention, and that time, the blurry haze of alcohol seemed to lift for a few moments. Enough to where he could remember his friends helping him along, feet far too heavy and clumsy for him to go alone, and slurring something to them. They’d looked really nice that night, at least in his memory. Maybe that was why he’d gotten the look he did.

And then when they got there, the soft mattress under his back, staring up at the both of them and spreading out a bit, asking them something. No, propositioning.

It was the last he could remember until he woke up with each of them on either side of him, both plugged in but awake, quickly moving to take care of his pounding headache.

They were all dressed, at least partially, but it was definitely enough to make a man wonder.


	2. formal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can tell how old this was by the summary i put on tumblr  
> back when they gave out awards  
> in october  
> christ

“Are both of you ready?”

Smith turned to his creations, adjusting the collar of this dress shirt. The pair of them were adjusting their own, looking more than a touch uncomfortable in the crisp clothing.

“Do we have to wear these?” Ross looked up at him, still fingering his sleeve. “I mean, they really aren’t very comfortable- aren’t we supposed to be?”

“This is a _formal event_. You’re supposed to dress _formally_.” The engineer crossed over, helping smooth out the wrinkles forming on the smaller android’s shoulders as he twisted about. “And no, you aren’t.”

“Then what’s the point?” Trott slapped his hands away, stepping back to tuck his shirt in properly- at least, in a way that was _somewhat_ presentable, even if it was annoying.

“The point is we were asked to present, and you don’t turn down that invitation. Especially when your boss asked you to.” He caught sight of the stagehand, gesturing they’d be up in a minute or so. “Look, just stand there, say what you’re supposed to, and later we can go back home and sleep. How about that?”

So long as they’d get the recharge- their batteries were already running at about half power. At their begrudging nods, Smith reached out to squeeze their shoulders.

“We’ll be fine. Ready? Come on, we have an award to present.”


	3. order

They could only watch as Ross dragged in the enormous cardboard box, dumping it right in the middle of their shared office.

“Well, are you going to help me open this thing or not?”

Bewildered and more than a touch curious, they’d agreed, tearing at the brown-tinted packing tape with scissors, hands, and the exacto knife Smith somehow still had from their last purchase.

They really needed to take that from him at some point.

“What did you even buy? I can’t think of anything that would need a box this big.” Trott’s last few words were a little strained- though unnecessarily- as he pulled at a length of adhesive, making it come apart with a long, satisfying _rip_.

“Never you mind, Trott. Just trust me.”

Neither felt too comfortable with those reassurances.

“Wait a second, is that-” Smith tugged on one of the flaps, allowing him to see what, exactly, lay inside. “Ross.”

“Hm?”

“There’s nothing in this box.”

“But there will be.” With that, the dark-haired android clambered inside, pulling the flaps up to close him in fully.

“Did you order a box just to sit in it?”

“Absolutely.”

The shortest of the three rolled his eyes, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Get out of the box, we have shit to do.”

“Don’t tell me to do things, Trott. Leave me.”

They would never understand his fascination with boxes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this poor boy  
> obsessed with boxes in real life and in fic  
> to be fair, i am, too


	4. thousand

Sudden silence brought Smith out of the little automation he was tinkering with in his lap, looking towards the source of the now-vanished sounds of drumming.

Ross sat very still now, looking off into space, looking as though he were concentrating incredibly hard on something.

Smith didn’t know what it could be for the life of him.

“Careful, mate. Don’t hurt yourself, don’t have the parts to fix it.”

He didn’t get a laugh or a retort, but rather something else.

“Hey, Smith? How long do you think we’ll last?”

Odd question from the android. “How do you mean?”

“Like us. Androids. How long do you think we’ll last?”

Smith set aside his screwdriver, scratching at his own beard. “Indefinitely? So long as you get regular upkeep. Why?”

“So we could live to be a thousand years old?” His eyes grew wide, almost childlike.

“I guess so. Do you want to?”

“Not really. Trott doesn’t, either.”

“Oh?” Interesting answer from anyone, much less two robots. “Why not?”

“ ‘Cause humans can’t, and you’re human. We don’t want to be around if you aren’t.”

Talk of his own mortality always sent shivers down his spine, and the engineer shifted uncomfortably. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I’ll try my best, just for you guys.”

He didn’t get an answer again, but the satisfied smile on Ross’ face was good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, now we're into heavy stuff  
> keep this in mind, yeah?


	5. future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one can get a bit twisty-turny, so i apologize for connfusion

No one knows where they’re really headed. The future is inscrutable, and nothing you can do will help you predict it.

Even build a time machine.

Smith had tried for ages to build one, burning part of his house down in the process, getting distracted and pushing it aside longer and longer. Finally, though, it was finished.

He wouldn’t be able to walk around or really interact or anything; no one would see him or hear him, but he could move things if he, himself, moved. That, and he’d have no control over when, just that it’d only be a minute.

This was actually pretty exciting.

Taking the little cube in hand, he twisted the dial.

Lights. Static. So, so loud. Swirly, dizzy, oh god I’m going to be _sick_ -

Stop.

He opened one eye, then another.

His workshop. Older, more cluttered. More worn.

Wait- he wasn’t alone! An old man stood, tinkering with something on the table. Someone.

Him.

Both of them.

Him as he was- is?- on the table, eyes closed, opened- machinery. Android.

He’s.. making _himself_? Why?

He looks- will look- so _old_.. is he about to..? He felt sick again. No, that was his time running out.

He needed to see more, know more; he jumped forward, knocking a piece back behind a table out of sight.

Smith hit his workbench, knocking the air out of him. It was empty of both man and machine. He was back.

And he still had no answers.

Still nauseated, he stowed the device away, leaving the room. Whatever that piece was, and whatever reason he was making that in the first place, he hoped it was important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> told you to keep it in mind


	6. the clothes that make the bot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trott found some new clothes.
> 
> Smith is concerned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ao3 exclusive now
> 
> since tumblr was Not Happy

Smith was not expecting to see what he saw when he came home that afternoon.

Normally, when he came home from errands or work or even just a walk to get some fresh air, he’d see his friends either browsing the internet or playing games, if they weren’t at class. Sometimes he’d catch them in the middle of chores-- he’d make a jab at them, getting a middle finger or a ‘v’ in return-- and once he found Trott fiddling with his wires.

That was an odd one. He cleaned up the mess later.

It wasn’t that today was any  different , really. Ross was nowhere to be seen, but the clicking, clacking of keys and the occasional yelp or grumble lent plenty of evidence to what he was really doing.

Especially when he started cursing out a random username.

Even Trott was sitting on the couch, boneless in a way, sucked into one show or another. He couldn’t tell what it was, even after a moment or two of watching. To be completely fair, Smith couldn’t tell what  anything Trott watched was-- maybe that was a blessing.

His show, or even his spot on the couch, wasn’t the issue, however-- it was what Trott was  wearing .

Normally, he wore, well, normal clothes. Jeans, a shirt, sometimes a jumper or jacket if it was cold out. Pajama bottoms, shorts, whatever.

This wasn’t normal for him.

It was..  feminine , if he could say that. Sure, he made jokes about Trott sometimes, but he never believed it, and he’d never acted in that traditional sense unless it was in a joking manner, but this wasn’t a joke.

Maybe.

“Trott?”

The bot took his eyes off the screen for a moment, acknowledging Smith with a brief wave of his left hand. “Oh, hey. Have a nice day at work? Did someone try to give you their number again?”

“Don’t tell my boss, but there’s an entire slot in the register drawer for them,” the human replied, dryly, and crossed over to sit next to Trott.

He must have looked as awkward and confused as he felt, because his construct didn’t look back at his show. Instead, he watched Smith, a frown tinged with slight concern on his face. “Do you need to go to the toilet or something?”

“What?”

Trott shrugged a shoulder. “You’re sitting like you’re constipated or have a stick up your ass-- is that what happened today?”

Smith snorted at his wide-eyed expression. “No! It’s just…” He paused, thinking of what words he could use. Finally, he simply gestured towards Trott helplessly.

The android looked at him blankly, an eyebrow raising slowly as Smith continued to gesticulate. “It’s…?”

After a final gesture, this one accompanied by a frustrated whine, the human spoke up. “Your  clothes , Trott.”

“Do you like them?” Trott beamed, excited, and launched into his explanation. “Well, there’s that charity shop right on the way to class, yeah? I went in there, because sometimes you need props and shit for class, and I found these!” He stood up, holding out his arms and spinning once for inspection.

His shirt-- what do they call them? It’s not really a shirt, or a blouse; a top?-- was a weird, soft material, not like the shirts he usually wore, and thin, barely covering his shoulders with the straps keeping it up. Off white, it hung in flowing folds around his waist and belly, over what was covering his bottom half.

That was the more garish part of it: a voluminous sort of skirt, reaching a few inches above his knees. Pinkish-white flowers bloomed from the dark background on the fabric, and as he turned, it fanned out a bit, enough to show--

He was not going to look at his underwear, that was  weird and made him feel  weird .

It wasn’t even  briefs .

“Well?”

“Uh,” Smith replied, articulately. 

Trott waited patiently for a proper response.

“Well, they’re, um.” The engineer scratched at his auburn hair, trying his damndest to reach into his soul and pull out what tact he had. “You’re a guy, Trott.”

“Actually, I’m a robot.”

“Male-programmed, then. Those are..” He pressed his lips together, tilting his head from side to side. “Girl clothes. You can't wear them, they're for women.”

“Girl clothes,” Trott repeated, deadpan, and Smith nodded. “I didn’t know clothes could have genders-- aren’t they inanimate objects?”

“Well, yes, but--”

“Right. And in English, anyway, inanimate objects don’t have genders.” Trott crossed his arms, still rolling forward with his speech. “These clothes are just clothes, and now they’re  Trott clothes.”

Smith gestured once more, a little more frantic than previous instances. “But they aren’t  made for you!”

“Well, yeah, I got them in a charity shop.” The android rolled his eyes. “Do you even listen to us when we talk to you?”

“Of course I do! But what will people think when they see you?”

“They’ll wonder why they can’t look this good in a skirt?”

Well, he  did look good, especially-- Not the time, Smith! “No! They’ll think you’re  weird , they’ll say nasty shit about you and to you.”

Trott shook his head. “They already do. Who cares?”

He hadn’t known that particular fact. Smith frowned and filed it away in his head for a future conversation. “Ross?”

Trott blinked at him, then turned back towards the sound of Ross, still cursing up a storm in the background. “ROSS,” he yelled, probably a bit louder than he needed to, “WHAT’D YOU THINK OF MY CLOTHES?”

“YOU PIECE OF SHIT, WHAT THE- I WANT TO WEAR THEM, SMITH, MAKE HIM LET ME!”

“THEY AREN’T EVEN YOUR SIZE!”

“BUT TROTT!”

Trott turned back to Smith, who was covering his ears in a desperate attempt to stop the ringing, eyes a little unfocused. “That’s what he thinks. What else?”

The thing was, Smith thought, it was a losing battle. He had few arguments left, and those that remained were weak, or would take far to much time to explain, like the concept of gendered activities and roles and objects in society. Trott seemed amazingly comfortable and happy with the clothes, and he wasn’t the type of person to take that away from someone, despite other personas he adopted, no matter his own shock.

Besides, it kind of grows on you.

“I.. nothing. If you want to keep them, do it.”

Trott smiled, a touch smug, and sat back down on the couch, crossing his legs, one knee over the other.

He was not going to look.

“... so. Do you really not like them?”

Trott was watching him very closely, and hidden deep down in his expression, there was a bit of uncertainty, a need for approval.

“Nah.” Smith relaxed against the couch, no longer looking like he’d sat down on a pole or really needed a bathroom break. “I do. You’ll have everyone jealous, mate.”

He pretended he didn’t see the relief spread across Trott’s face, and simply watched the screen in front of them, now on a new episode of… whatever the hell Trott had been watching. The two sat in companionable, comfortable silence, Ross’ occasional bursts of noise breaking through.


End file.
